


By Midnight

by theunknownfate



Category: Watchmen
Genre: Awkward Kissing, F/M, Kinkmeme, Kissing, New Years, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3078809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunknownfate/pseuds/theunknownfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme prompt:<br/>Kisses are awkward.<br/>Either pulling someone down into kissing range or lifting someone up into it. <br/>Any pairing. Any at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Midnight

He had done it. 

She couldn't believe it. 

The surly little troll had actually done it. When they had found the snuff film tapes that were circulating, catering to very specific audience, the Comedian had thought it was funny. He had made some cracks about already winning the war and killing enough people that there wasn't a thrill in watching it anymore. She had expected Rorschach to agree or at least approve, but he had stormed out without a word to anybody. That had been a week ago and no one had heard from him until he called Nite Owl for back up. 

Nite Owl had called the rest of them and they got there in time to see the building go up in flames. There were flashing lights, firemen, police, and ambulances. There were some frightened kids, boys and girls dressed in the same so-called ethnic costumes that the victims in the first films had been wearing. They looked underfed and roughed up. There were a few henchmen strapped to stretchers. None of them would be holding a camera anytime soon. Or a spoon. 

Laurie had to fight down the elation. The lowlife behind this whole snuff film studio had ended up looking like one of his 'stars', but was whimpering too hard to be dead. She wanted to laugh at him and clap her hands, but she had spent too long proving herself a badass to give in to girlish glee now. 

She saw Rorschach walk out, spattered with blood, but none of it was his. Police and reported rushed him for comment or confirmation. He brushed them off, directing them towards Nite Owl or Ozymandias. She lost sight of him for a minute before the square of light from an open door caught her eye. He was leaving out the back, away from the reporters, the attention, and the gratitude.

She followed him and found herself in a stairwell. Why was he heading underground? Had he killed one of the goons and was making himself scarce before the body was found? Nobody who saw the tapes would ever blame him.

"Hey!" she called. He stopped, but didn't turn. All she got was a tilt of his head. If he hadn't recognized her voice, he might not have stopped at all. "They still want to talk to you." She jerked a thumb back towards the crowd.

He made the sound that she had expected, a rough, contemptuous grunt.

"Have the name," he said. "Of the people sending him his 'talent'. No reason to wait."

"Well, I can get-" She gestured back to where the lights were still going off.

"No." He was already walking away.

"Can't go alone-" Her voice trailed off and he made that sound again. She saw his fingers flex in the blood-stained gloves. Ok, so he could. "Wait!" she said anyway.

She hurried down the stairs to catch up. He half turned and she saw the argument on the way before he could say anything. She was on the step above him and wearing four inch heels. She would've been taller than him side by side in bare feet.

"In case you're not back by midnight," she said, and he really should've known what was coming, but he just tilted his head in a puzzled way. The angle was awkward. She was higher up and too tall and wearing heels and he was leaning back, too short, and a step lower. She knew better than to make a grab for him. He had already broken enough arms tonight.

Of course he wouldn't make it easy or accept it gracefully. She had to lock her knees, anchor her heels, brace her hands against her thighs, and bend from the hips. It was the kind of pose that had made her mother famous and she was beyond grateful that no one was there to see or photograph it. 

She had aimed for his cheek, not wanting to push her luck any harder, but his confused attempt to dodge left the kiss plunking right on the corner of his mouth. He smelled like smoke and sweat and blood and burning acetate. She felt his lips pull into a hard line through the mask and decided not to linger. She stood back up again quickly. 

"Happy New Year," she said, smiling down on him. He was still frozen, one arm up to elbow her off if he had to. His body language went from disgruntled to startled, like he hadn't known what day it was. His mask had erupted into a shape like a popped black bubble, but that was her last look at him before she went back up the stairs.


End file.
